


La petite mort

by NeoVenus22



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"So tell me something," says Owen.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	La petite mort

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 2x08, 'A Day in the Death'

"So tell me something," says Owen, working buttons with the deftness she'd expect from a skilled surgeon. "What's it like, fucking a zombie?"

Cool fingertips drift over Tosh's swollen nipples. It feels better than one might expect. Tosh has worked Owen's body temperature into her life; she turns the heat in her flat up to almost unbearable levels when he arrives, so that his touch is refreshing, in more ways than one. Then again, Tosh has longed for Owen to look at her this way for so long she'd take him no matter the circumstances.

"You're not a zombie," she says, out of habit. Out of kindness. She leans back against his chest. Her blouse falls open, her breasts spill into his hands.

"I'm the walking dead, sweetheart," he says. He squeezes and strokes, plays and pinches, and Tosh's eyes close. It's been a long day, and his touch is more of a release than he realizes.

As such, his constant chatter stream, the self-effacing bitterness, is not as oddly charming as she usually finds it. "As I recall, the walking dead don't talk so much." She doesn't necessarily mean it to be sexy, but it comes out that way.

"If you want grunts and groans, I can make that happen," he says, his voice a low purr of promise, and then she feels the scrape of his hand across her ass as he undoes the zipper of her skirt. It loosens and slides down her hips, thighs, calves, to the floor. Owen tugs at her nylons, freeing what he really wants to get at. He's not much for preamble, but Tosh has never had the time for anything particularly leisurely. Besides, borrowed time is a good reason to get things right the first go.

Owen's capacity for memory is fascinating, a trait she's always liked about him. She loves it now, how it took him only one meeting for his hands to learn her body, to play across her skin and make her come undone so easily. Of course, a part of her thinks that nerves frayed to the point of near explosion is just a side effect of being so near him.

Tosh's head lolls back onto Owen's shoulder, her legs starting to tremble from the effect of his fingers caressing her clit the way she taught him. "I'm not hearing anything," he whispers into her ear, applying pressure until she finally moans. And then she can't stop, getting louder and more desperate until she comes against his hand, bellowing his name shamefully.

The hands that will never warm spread cool across her heated thighs and Owen's lips cross the nape of her neck without breath. She knows, in the way that she can't forget, that he's dead. But good lord does he ever make her feel alive.


End file.
